Enchanted
by itsourinsidejoke
Summary: In therapy, Kate Beckett reflects on her relationship with Richard Castle. Oneshot Series. Ch. 4: "Stand in the Rain." A Sniper is loose in the city. People are dying. While she whines about her insecurities.  Spoilers for 4x09, "Kill Shot."
1. Enchanted

**I don't own Castle. I don't own Taylor Swift's "Enchanted."**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Enchanted

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: "I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I'll spend forever, wondering if you knew. It was enchanting to meet you." In therapy, Katherine Beckett reflects on the first time she met Richard Castle.

* * *

><p>"<em>Your eyes whispered 'Have we met?'<br>Across the room your silhouette  
>Starts to make its way to me<br>The playful conversation starts  
>Counter all your quick remarks<br>Like passing notes in secrecy"_

"Enchanted"  
>Taylor Swift<em><br>_

* * *

><p>"What was it like, the first time you met him?"<p>

Kate smiles softly, through the tears that fall steadily down her cheeks. She has already been here for an hour. She needs to leave soon or someone was going to wonder where she is. But she can't seem to rise out of the chair she was sitting in. Maybe it was its soft leather, reminding her so much of the leather jackets she wore. Maybe it was the plush, so different the hard bottom to her desk chair. Maybe it was the width of the seat, giving her enough room to pull up her legs.

But she knows that it was the safety of the closed doors; the comfort of the walls; the understanding therapist sitting across from her. She knows it had nothing to do with the chair but has everything to do with the room.

* * *

><p><em>I open the door to my apartment. <em>

_Shrugging off my jacket, I toss it on my couch before aimlessly wandering to my kitchen. Checking my fridge for food, I frown when I only see a plastic container of Chinese food I ordered I week. Sighing, I slam the door shut, and reach for a bottle of wine on the top cabinet and pour myself a class._

_I definitely deserve it._

_It has been one hell of a day._

* * *

><p>"I was annoyed," she tells him softly.<p>

He frowns slightly. "I thought that you were his fan?"

She glanced up from her fingers, nervously playing with the tattered edges of her sweater. Blushing, she continues, "Sure, I was a fan. But he came in, upset the apple cart, left, came back, then decided to stay without even asking me." Just talking about it makes her flustered, just like it had three years before. "I liked his writing, but I did _not_ like him."

* * *

><p><em>I draw a bath and settle in. I close my eyes for a long time and try to clear my head. I try to get rid of the image of Rick Castle walking out of the Precinct that day. I don't want to think about him. He is annoying, egotistical, and completely … completely. <em>

_I paused, opening my eyes. I pick up my wine, and take a long drink._

_He was completely charming._

* * *

><p>"What changed?"<p>

Kate bites the inside of her cheek. Honestly, she doesn't know what changed. One minute she is doing everything she can to make Richard Castle go back to his book parties, his ex-wives, his life and leave her the hell alone. The next minute, however, she can't seem to solve a case without his constant off-the-wall theories, morbid puns, and coffee.

She didn't know what happened between that first murder and their most recent.

But that is a lie. And she knows it.

"Everything changed," she confesses, looking up at him, catching his eyes. She doesn't hide herself here – what is the point? If she wants to get better, she has to tell him everything. She can never let the walls come down when she has the bricks and concrete next to her. She has to step away from the wall, throw the mortar away.

Her eyes reveal hurt, sadness, excitement, anger, fear, and something else the doctor can't pinpoint.

* * *

><p><em>I remember trying to get an autograph from him once.<em>

_I stand in line for two hours, my copy of _Storm Rising_ in my hands. My uniform is scratching me everywhere because I haven't taken it off all day. I have been up since four that morning, digging through trashcans, and it is already nearing seven. I tap my foot in anticipation, trying to keep my eyes open._

_I have never been the kind of girl to stand in line for an autograph. I am not a "fan girl." I do not squeal at television characters nor do I get excited when the 'will they; won't they' couple finally gets together. But Richard Castle has been much more than the author of a few best-sellers – unintentionally, he has dug me out of my mother's grave._

_I feel indebted to him. How can I possibly repay him?_

_I just want to meet him. I know I would never see him again but I want that signature to show my mom when I go to her grave. I want to look back on this book and remember what it is like to meet the man who saved me from myself, from the bullets, knives, pills, everything._

_The line moves forward. I peek around the shoulder of the woman in front of me. I can see him. He is sitting behind a table smiling up at whoever he was talking too. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a few days, the first three buttons of his collared shirt were undone, and he looks absolutely wonderful._

_What catches my eye, however, is the little girl with fiery red hair sitting next to him, running a marker along a coloring book. That must be his daughter, I think. She's adorable. I watch as he leans over and plants a kiss on the young girl's head. He ruffles her hair, which earns him a glare, and then he looks back up at the fan in front of him._

_My cell starts to ring and my face fell._

_Oh, no. _

_I blink heavily, tearing my eyes away from the scene. I pull out my cell phone and see that it is Esposito. I answer, trying not to cry. "Beckett," I greet, trying not to sound like I am about burst into tears. Because I am. It is a long day – and it Is about to get longer._

_"Got a fresh one, Beckett," I hear him distantly._

_"Figured," I reply hardly. I get the address and step out of line. The ditzy blonde who had been jabbering on the phone since I got in line quickly fills the vacant space. I didn't even bother glaring at her – I didn't have time. Instead, I turn around once more and looked back up to the table. The little girl behind Richard Castle's table catches my eye._

_I gave her a smile and a wave – kids always give me the same look when they see the uniform. It fascinates them – we're like modern-day superheroes, without the capes or masks._

_I remember her tugging on Richard Castle's sleeve. Before he can see me, however, I beeline to the door. The last thing I need is for him to see me as I am about to cry. I just wasted two hours waiting for an autograph I won't ever get. Maybe some other day, I remember thinking. But I knew that it wasn't going to happen._

* * *

><p>"It seems like you were much more than a fan."<p>

His comment brings her back from her memories. She nods, biting her lip. "I guess," she agrees, unsure how to respond. "He helped me through a lot back then. His books had an ending. The good guys always won. It gave me … hope for the future. He had that 'happy every after' effect in his books that no mystery novelist had."

Her therapist smiles and writes something down on his clipboard, almost identical to the one Lanie carries around at crime scenes. "Does he still have the same effect on you, Kate?"

She pretends to think but she doesn't have to. _Yes_. He is there – _always_. They were beating the odds together – beginning with their quirky relationship, to their makeshift partnership, and finally to whatever they are now. What are they? She always wonders. Sometimes she feels like she did in the beginning – annoyed and frustrated. Other times they banter, swap innuendos, just like they had done before he left that summer for the Hamptons. Then other times, she thinks they are already together, already _really_ together.

_I love you. I love you, Kate._

"Yes," she answers.

* * *

><p><em>In bed that night, I pull out my old copy of <em>Storm Rising_ from my bookshelf. I have not touched this particular book since that day I left his book signing. It always brings back such a disappointing feeling – I never have gone to another one of his signings. I became too busy with work, with my promotion, with my murders._

_Then, he waltzes into my life, almost ten years after my failed attempt to meet him._

_I happen upon this case that is based off his books. I remember the scenes, the murders he penned, and then I meet him – really _meet_ him. Though he is annoying, egotistical, a nine-year-old on a sugar high, he is something. He is different, charming, fun – all aspects not included in the life of a detective for the NYPD._

_I did know what to think of Richard Castle._

_However, now that we have murderer guy – Kyle Cabot – I don't have to worry about him coming back to me again. In a weird way, the universe works itself out. I didn't get to meet him before but I got to meet him today. I didn't get an autograph – but I did have conversations with him, find out that he is not a miracle worker but just a playboy, and solve a case with him._

_I will not see Richard Castle again._

_I am okay with that._

_I _am_ okay with this. _

* * *

><p>"He kept coming back," she chuckles. "I thought that my time with Richard Castle was over. I thought the universe worked itself out. But I was wrong. He came back." She straightens out her legs, slips on her shoes. "He came back," she repeats, her face breaking out into a small smile.<p>

Her cheeks are dry.

Her tears have stopped falling.

"It was so weird," she says, leaning forward into her seat. "I couldn't imagine in a thousand years something like this would happen. These kinds of things only happen on television. But, then it did." She shrugs, runs a hand through her hair. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a fairytale." She pauses, fighting a grin. "A really twisted, morbid fairytale that is."

Her therapist nods, and stands, knowing their session is rapidly drawing to a close. She follows suit, grabbing her leather jacket, straightening her turtleneck sweater.

He gives her a look, curious. "So, what was it really like, meeting Richard Castle?"

Kate gets what he's hinting at. _I love you. I love you, Kate_. She remembers the freezer, the crazy theories, the kiss, the obsession with toys, the books, the parties, the guns, the tragedies, the laughs, the tears, the smiles, the connections, the conjectures, the fights, the funerals, the shot. And as these thoughts race through her mind, Kate can only think of one word to describe finally Richard Castle for the first time.

She rolls her eyes.

"It was _enchanting_."

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**My first one-shot on here! :) This was a lot of fun to write. I don't know if someone has done this before, but I just became obsessed with the song "Enchanted" by Taylor Swift. It fit Castle/Beckett in a really weird, off-the-wall kind of way. This idea popped into my head and I wanted to avoid homework, so … Haha. **

**Thank you so much for reading,  
><strong>**Lizzy **


	2. Poison and Wine

**I don't own Castle. I don't own "Poison and Wine."**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Enchanted

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: In therapy, Kate Beckett reflects on her relationship with Richard Castle. Oneshot Series. Ch. 2: "I don't love you, but I always will." She wonders what she would be if he hadn't walked out of that bank.

* * *

><p>"<em>I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back<br>The less I give the more I get back  
>Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise<br>I don't have a choice but I still choose you."_

"Poison and Wine"  
>The Civil Wars<p>

* * *

><p>"I thought I lost him."<p>

She pulls at the fringed edges of her NYPD sweater, sitting across from her therapist. The rain beats continuously against the window, giving the room a dark and gloomy feel as opposed to the warmth and comfort she normally feels when she is in here.

"At the bank?"

She nods slowly, her throat clogging. This was the only place she could continuously cry without judgment. If she cries every time she feels like she needs to, her coworkers will lose their respect for her. She can't cry at home – the silence is constantly watching, mocking her. She can't cry anywhere but here. Everyone else has to see her at her strongest – only when she sits in this chair is she at her weakest.

"How did you feel when you found out Castle was inside the bank?"

Kate thinks about it whilst biting her lip. "I was scared," she whispers. She hears the phone go dead with a crack. She sees herself calling out his name – hoping that he would respond. She remembers grabbing her jacket and leaving the Precinct without even telling the boys she was leaving. She drives too fast. She uses the siren.

"He didn't pick up when I called him back. I knew he wouldn't. Trapper John broke his phone. But that was all I could do." Her voice is cracking and she can't help it. Castle could have died. He would have died. "And," she pushes on, "all I could think was, 'Am I going to see him again alive?'"

Her therapist nods and writes something down. The rain is a melancholy backdrop to their conversation. The sky is releasing the sadness Kate wants to express.

"Tell me about the explosion."

Kate looks down at crossed legs. She pulls one of her feet under and sits there, thinking. The van rocks with the wave of energy released from the bomb. She sees smoke and debris. She thinks he is dead. She wonders how she will look after Alexis if he is dead. Her heart breaks into a thousand pieces. But she tries to look calm. She tries not to let the feelings show. She can't show feelings – she needs to be strong.

"I had to be strong," she explains. "I had to be strong."

"Why?"

She looks up at her therapist who sits there, waiting. He asks the right questions – he always asks the questions she doesn't want to answer. Then again, it _is_ his job. He should be asking those questions. She doesn't want to answer. Answering would mean hearing that she is wrong. He would tell her to not be as strong – she shouldn't be so strong.

"I …" she falters. After a sigh, she continues, "I have to be strong. It's a part of my job. I can't show emotion. I can't show that I'm scared or worried or whatever." She shakes her head. "I couldn't just … burst into tears. I was doing my job. I couldn't be weak when there were so many people watching."

She doesn't want to know his response – she doesn't want him to contradict her. Kate hates to be wrong and she hates it even more when people try to change her.

"You're right," he says, surprising her. "You need to be strong when you're working. When people choose the Force as a career, they have to buck up and put their feelings aside." She nods, almost happy that he is agreeing. "However," he blinks heavily. "There is a difference between the job and your life. You know that, right, Kate?"

She used to have a life. She used to know the difference between personal and professional. She thinks she knows the difference between the two. Slowly, she shakes her head. "I know there is a line," she admits. "But I don't know …" She looks desperate, eyes shiny. "I don't know how to separate them."

Her therapist shifts in his seat, getting comfortable for the following conversation. "Then tell me this, Kate," he starts, balancing his pen on this clipboard. He manages to clasp his hands together before asking, "What did you think when you were pushing the gurney out of the bank? What was going through your mind?"

"I thought …" she trails off, biting her lip. "I thought I might never see him again." She feels so small and helpless – she hates feeling this way. "I just kept thinking that we had so much more to do. Cases to solve, banter to exchange, coffee to drink. I couldn't imagine going to work anymore and just not … seeing him there."

God, she sounds like a love-sick teenager.

But isn't she?

No, she isn't a teenager, but she's love-sick, right? That is why she is here, talking to this therapist. She remembers everything – she remembers his confession. She remembers what it felt like when the bullet went through her. She remembers spending all those months alone, thinking about what he said – trying to make sense of it. Because, really, why would he ever love her? Sure, she is pretty and smart and a cop. But she has a wall – a fortress guarding her heart. He can have any woman in the world … so, why does he keep holding out for her? Why does he pick up that hammer and hurl it against her wall when he needs only a feather to step inside the personal lives of other women?

"And if you hadn't seen him again?" She snaps out of her thoughts like a ponytail pulled too tight around thick hair. The question catches her off guard. The question was like a flood, pushing itself against the fortress. She can feels cracks in the mortar and she tries to keep the wall up, though she doesn't want to.

She doesn't want to keep this damn wall up.

But she has been supporting it, building it higher and thicker for so many years. It's second nature to try to dismiss the flood, the question, because it would break the sick masterpiece she spends too much time crafting.

She feels nauseous – she doesn't want to answer. She can't even begin to transform her emotions into words. How would she react if Castle hadn't been on the other side of that explosion? What if she had found him dead?

"I can't even imagine," she begins, her voice surprisingly steady. "I …"

He interrupts, "And what if he hadn't been in that building at all? What if was a case you picked up of a mass homicide resulting from a bank heist-gone-wrong?"

That is easy.

"It would be a case," she doesn't hesitate. "I would treat it like a case."

After a long moment of silence, she looks back up at her therapist. She sees him trying to suppress a smile but he is failing miserably. Why is he smiling? He doesn't smile in their sessions – he doesn't show emotion at all. "What?" She does a great job of whining like Castle, dying to be let in on his private joke.

He gingerly picks up his pen and writes something on his notepad.

"You do know the difference," he replies after another moment.

Her eyebrows scrunch in confusion. Her lips purse into a pout. "I don't understand," she complains, sounding a lot like a child. "What do you mean?"

He smiles at her. "I asked you if you knew the difference between the job and your life. You said you couldn't separate them. But you just did, Kate. You just told me the difference."

A streak of sunshine makes its way across the carpet. Kate glances out the window to see the clouds dissipating. The rain stops falling and she bites her lip, wondering idly if God loves irony as much as Richard Castle did.

She can separate between the job and her life. Because if Castle hadn't been in that bank, she would have did her job – despite the numerous family members that would not be walking home that night. She would have felt bad, sure, because there were so many dead. But she wouldn't lose sleep over those deaths. She could solve the case and move on.

She can separate between the job and her life. Because if Castle hadn't walked out of that bank, she wasn't sure what she would have done. She didn't know what she would have told Alexis. She didn't know what she would say at his funeral. She didn't know how she would have gone on with her life. Rick is not just a boyfriend she loves and tosses aside because they never cross her threshold.

He is already inside.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**This is ****dedicated to **_Marilia11_ **because she asked for more Beckett, therapy-style session and the song "Poison and Wine" by The Civil Wars so happened to be playing at the time. I just … had to write this. I don't know if this has become a 'thing' but I like writing an open, vulnerable Kate. She's different, if not a little more challenging to understand.  
>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Until next time,  
><strong>**Lizzy**


	3. This Is War

**I don't own Castle. I don't own "This Is War."**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Enchanted

**Rating**: T+

**Description**: In therapy, Kate Beckett reflects on her relationship with Richard Castle. Oneshot Series. Ch. 3: "It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie." She remembers everything. Days like these she wishes she hadn't. (Based off of 4x01).

* * *

><p>"<em>A warning to the people<br>The good and the evil  
>This is war<br>To the soldier, the civilian  
>The martyr, the victim<br>This is war."_

"This Is War"  
>30 Seconds to Mars<p>

* * *

><p>"Everyone's different. What's on your mind?"<p>

_Everything_. She can't stop the tears. She can't stop her heart from ripping. She can't stop feeling this this was the end of everything … everything she has gained over the past three years. She can't stop the tears. She can't stop her heart from ripping. She can't stop the feeling that this was the end of everything … everything she has gained over the past three years.

She's a broken record.

Playing over and over and over and over…

She can't stop the tears. She can't stop her heart from ripping. She can't stop feeling this this was the end of everything … everything she has gained over the past three years.

She nods, trying to stop the tears.

Glancing up at the ceiling, she manages, "I don't even know where to start."

"Well, why don't we start with the shooting," he offers. "Is … any of it coming back to you?"

She feels pain. She hears screaming. She feels a force tackling her to the ground. She tries to remain above water but she can feel her consciousness drowning. She is drowning. She sees Castle. He is holding her. Holding her like she always dreams about. He's touching her neck, her back. It feels nice. More than nice. _Stay with me, Kate_. He calls her Kate. She loves when he calls her Kate. _Don't leave me_. _Please_. The sky is too blue for such a depressing day. It's New York … shouldn't it be raining? _Stay with me, okay_? What is that pain? Is she bleeding?

_Kate, I love you_.

"I lied," she whispers. "Before."

"What do you remember?"

_I love you, Kate_.

"I remember everything."

* * *

><p>"You remember everything?"<p>

She bites her lip and blinks heavily. She looks out the window. The sun is setting – everyone else has gone home because the case has been solved. Only she remains here, like always. Castle is probably eating dinner with his family, laughing and smiling. Ryan and Jenny are probably going over napkin samples and music playlists for their wedding. Esposito is probably buying Lanie a drink at the Old Haunt. But she is here, alone. Alone, like always.

"I remember everything," she repeats. "I remember the shooting."

"Then, tell me what happened."

She sighs, pressing her lips together. Does she have to repeat the memories that haunt her at night? The last time she saw Captain Montgomery alive is constantly filling her consciousness. When she would try to sleep at her father's cabin, she would toss and turn, trying to rid her mind of the words she so carefully crafted for his eulogy. She sees Castle's face as he leans over her dying self. His face plagues her mind like an unstoppable infection.

She remembers his confession. Three simple words. _I love you_.

"I was speaking," she starts, almost feeling the sunlight of the clear afternoon hitting her face. "I remember looking back at Castle. Then, there's a shot. I fall back." He tackles her. He tries to save her. "Castle is there." Damn it – her lip is trembling again. Damn it. "He tells me not to leave him." She doesn't want to leave him.

"He says he loves me."

There, she has said it out loud.

"He said that he loved you?" She nods. "In our last sessions, you told me that your relationship with Mr. Castle was strictly platonic." His face doesn't betray him. He doesn't look the slightest bit confused, despite the tone of his voice. This is a test. "Are you saying there is something more between you and Mr. Castle?"

She wants to scream.

They are kissing. She backs up, wondering what the hell he was thinking. They have to save Ryan and Esposito. But then she looks at him and all those years of innuendo and bantering isn't enough anymore. She can't imagine how he would feel against her any longer. She has a taste of the real thing – there is no going back. She leans in.

They are in front of the bomb. She wants to kiss him, to tell him everything she has been holding back. But, instead, he takes her hand into his own. She can't even feel his skin because they both are wearing gloves. She wants to thank him, for saving her. She resolves to die here, looking at him. They don't need words – they never have. He pulls the wires. He saves them. She gains one more day of longing, of dreaming, of hoping that the day she can say those words out loud.

He is carrying her. She struggles against him. He's too strong for her. He slams her back against his car. He covers her mouth as she screams. He tells her that everything will be _okay_. He says that everything will be _alright_. It isn't okay. It isn't alright. It still isn't. He saves her. She doesn't want him to save her. All he does is save her. She keeps letting people save her; people keep dying for her.

Would he die for her?

"It's complicated," she manages.

"How is it complicated?"

Her interest shifts to her fingers toying at a loose strand on the armrest of the chair. "I don't even know where to start," she laughs darkly, recalling the beginning of their conversation. She's a mess. She doesn't know where to start. What a surprise. The wall is so tall, not even smoke signals can alert outsiders.

"Why don't we start at the beginning, then?" he offers, seeing her distressed expression. The beginning, she thinks. That would help. The beginning is a good place to start. She feels the back of her neck warm. Rick would like the beginning. It's where stories need to start.

She nods.

"What was it like, the first time you met him?"

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**I love the weekends because I can look at school assignments and write fan fiction instead. ;) This is based off a wonderful YouTube video I watched, with this chapter's song and Johanna Beckett's murder as the theme. I had never heard this song before today and it is absolutely brilliant. This chapter had me tearing up the whole time but it was a blast to write. Hope you enjoyed. **

**Until next time,  
><strong>**Lizzy**


	4. Stand in the Rain

**I don't own Castle. I don't own "Stand in the Rain."**

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: Enchanted

**Rating**: T

**Description**: In therapy, Kate Beckett reflects on her relationship with Richard Castle. Oneshot Series. Ch. 4: "Stand in the Rain." A Sniper is loose in the city. People are dying. While she whines about her insecurities. (**Spoilers** for 4x09, "Kill Shot").

* * *

><p>"<em>She won't make a sound<br>Alone in this fight with herself _

_And the fears whispering if she stands she'll fall down  
>She wants to be found<br>The only way out is through everything she's running from _

_Wants to give up and lie down_."

"Stand in the Rain"  
>Superchick.<p>

* * *

><p>"No, you don't understand. I need … to be … okay."<p>

It's frustrating, she thinks. Coming in here all the time. The chair is no longer comforting. The walls aren't hiding anything. The window reflects the hatred she feels for the world. She's falling apart. She's drowning. She can't sit down. Not when people are dying. By a sniper. At random. God, there's a sniper loose in the city and she's seeing her therapist. Why can she just grow the hell up and move on? It was months ago she was shot. Why was she still feeling this now?

The gun fires, like a lone firecracker in the silence of oblivion. It bounces off every blade of grass, every cold, gray stone, every pair of sunglasses, every shoe, every flower. The sun is too bright for such a sad day. _I love you, Kate_. The grass stabs her, cutting through her skin like thousands of knives. The bullet digs through her, shattering the temple she calls a wall with just a single blow.

It takes her all summer to build up that wall again.

"That's not always a choice, Kate," he replies gently, comforting. Why does he sound that way, she wonders. Is he supposed to sound like sunshine and hot chocolate? "What you're describing … Hypervigilance is a classic symptom of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

That's not right.

_Did she feel anything?_ Her hand creeps up to her chest, feeling the pull of the scar, marking her imperfections. The ring bouncing off her chest is hot like dry ice. The watch slowly breaks her wrist – crack, crack, crack… She's falling apart.

"I don't have PTSD."

_You guys, you don't have to avoid the word on my account._

Sniper.

Sniper.

Sniper. Loose in the city. Taunting.

She won't have PTSD. She's Kate Beckett, super cop. Muse of Richard Castle. Motorcycle rider. Badass. She's one of the best cops in the city. Youngest female to make detective. _I didn't know they were keeping score_. Yeah, right. She remembers drinking margaritas with Lanie when she was promoted, boasting about her early successes.

"You were shot," he whispers. "By a sniper," he adds as an afterthought. "I think it's safe to say that this case is going to bring up issues. Issues you still haven't dealt with."

Oh, she has a lot of issues, doesn't she? There's her mother. Her mother, taken too early. Her mother is dead – and now Kate is older than her mother would ever be. And her murder was never solved – that led to the death of her mentor, her superior, her friend. The funeral. Then, there's the shooting. The sniper is still on the loose and everyone else is dead. There are no leads. And she's trying to move on – for Rick Castle's sake. And then there's Rick Castle. That is an issue she keeps coming back to isn't it?

She should just jump the shark and fall into the ocean, right?

But she can't help thinking that she'll drown.

"Okay. Then, fine," she growls. "I'll deal with them. Right now, I need to figure out how to make this stop." Because she is a cop. A cop with a job – she has to do that job. There are so many dead already and she needs to solve their cases… for their families. So someone else doesn't end up like her. She has to put her feelings aside. She has to do her _job_.

"It's not going to stop … not without time and treatment." He looks solemn, almost sad. He sees her falling, doesn't he? He can see how many pieces she will break into and he doesn't have enough glue or tape to put her back together. What a horrible job he had, watching people crash and burn.

"The psychological trauma is every bit as real as the physical trauma."

_Every time I close my eyes, I see Montgomery's face…_

She shakes the thought off. What would Montgomery do if he saw her like this?

"Listen," she grovels, feeling like she's interrogating a suspect. Or bribing a child. She sits down, trying to reason with the man. Tell him why she can't have this problem. "People are dying out there. I don't have time to get all weepy over a couple of scars." The scar tugs and she winces, barely getting the words out. They sound like a lie, even to her ears. And she was good at convincing herself that her lies held truth – or were truth, if she needed to.

_That was amazing. _

"Okay, so what's the alternative?" he asks her, like she should know the answer. Wasn't he the doctor? "Walking around feeling like you have crosshairs on your back?" Her skin prickles at the thought; goose bumps rise on her arms and she feels like the room drop twenty degrees. "Thinking every glint off a window is a sniper-"

"Look, there's gotta be a pill out there or something, right?" she interrupts. She can't listen to the scenarios. She's already picturing them. Every glint off a window is a sniper about to shoot her. Every corner, someone is perched, watching and waiting. Every time she blinks, she'll end up on the grass, stabbing her in the back. _I love you, Kate_. "Something to take the edge off." She barely manages to finish before the scenarios become too much. She wants to lie down and sleep forever.

"Medication can help... but not right away." He doesn't know what answer to give her. She's a ticking bomb, about ready to blow the city and he doesn't know which wires to cut. He won't be like Castle – he won't pull all of them out on impulse, but saving millions of people. No, she'll explode and kill everyone.

"Well, then what?"

She feels defeated.

"Well, for one, I think you should consider stepping away from the case," he suggests with little conviction in his voice. He knows her too well. He knows she won't drop this case. She has families counting on her to call them and give them the name of the person who took their loved ones away. She'll stay on this case for as long as she can. Because she is Kate Beckett – super cop, muse of Rick Castle, motorcycle rider, badass.

God, she needs a drink.

Was that what her father thought the first time he picked up the bottle after her mother's death? Did he think that that one bottle would be it, and he would be able to wake up the next morning and move on? But then he didn't. And he kept going back to the bottle, nursing it like the medication she so desperately wanted. Did he think it would take the edge off? Did she? Would it take the edge off?

"You don't think I can handle this?" The question is bitter and cold and sad. She sounds pathetic. She waits for his approval, for his "yes." Because it has to be "yes." She will not take no for an answer.

And he surprises her. He answers neither, option C.

"I'm saying, you don't have too," he pauses and she feels her throat clog. She's breaking, cracking. Her walls are plastered together with broken bricks and low-quality cement. Her walls are no longer the Great Wall of China. She doesn't know what to compare it to any more.

"You're not the only cop in the city, Kate," he concludes, setting his pen aside.

She doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't know how to argue. So, she rubs her hands down her face, trying to wake herself up from this nightmare. Her hair pulls and it hurts up in this damn bun – she wants to pull it down, but she can't. She has to build herself up somewhere. If not her walls, then her hair. If not her hair, then …

Then, what?

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.<strong>

**This is the product of insomnia and the Kill Shot spoilers looping through my head like "Stand in the Rain" is on my iTunes right now. I just got super inspired and I really wanted to share this with you guys. All the dialogue is taken from the third Kill Shot sneak peek. So excited for this episode!  
><strong>**Thanks for reading! Happy birthday, Kate Beckett! I'm sorry for that awkward moment I wrote about that time you were in therapy and a sniper was loose in the city and you were freaking out. Mmm …**

**Until next time,  
><strong>**Lizzy**


End file.
